Killing by Colours

by Wonny Lea

  He had discovered that the car was a black automatic 2000cc Ford Mondeo hatchback, registered to a Miss Mary Rossiter, which looked practically brand new. The address of the registered keeper was 12 Merlin Crescent, Caerphilly, and Martin had found out that there was only one occupant listed. Of course it didn’t necessarily follow that it was the owner of the car who had been killed – someone else could have been using the vehicle.

  The door opened and Martin’s thoughts were interrupted by the appearance of a tall, solidly built man with a smooth hairless head. It was Alex Griffiths, and he stood in the doorway for a few moments, taking in the information on the whiteboards, before smiling broadly. ‘Never in a million years would DI Hall be responsible for this level of order, and there is only one “column man” that I know and that’s DCI Martin Phelps. What are you doing here, mate, and what’s with the macabre poetry?’

  Martin returned the smile. He and Alex had known one another for years, well before either of them had joined the force, and they had in recent years worked together on a number of complex cases. When it came to SOC investigators Alex was up there with the best and not just because he was meticulous about detail but also because he had a natural instinct for knowing when things just did not add up.

  ‘The poem is something I rang you about earlier but your phone went straight through to your messaging service.’ Martin showed Alex the red envelope and the paper on which the poem was written and went on to explain that it had been delivered to his cottage earlier that day. Just as Martin had done, Alex immediately picked up on the fact that it was addressed to ‘DCI’ and not ‘Mr’ Martin Phelps. The separation of their professional lives and their private lives was something most of the senior officers tried desperately to achieve, and this piece of correspondence had clearly crossed the line.

  It didn’t take more than a few minutes for Alex to take on board all the facts that Martin had gathered, and to reach the same conclusion. ‘The person who murdered the woman whose body I have just seen sent you that letter, and you were not meant to get it until after the act was committed. But why was it sent to you? You weren’t even on the rota to be the senior CID officer on duty this weekend; I know because I always check who I’m going to be working with when I get a call out.’

  ‘No, but I would have been if I hadn’t swapped weekends,’ replied Martin. ‘Maybe our killer is someone with inside knowledge but not up-to-date information.’

  ‘Oh, I bloody hate it when things get personal,’ said Alex. ‘Murder is bad enough anyway without the killer playing some sort of game with us. Have you got any idea who could have sent the letter and de facto could be the killer?’

  ‘None whatsoever,’ Martin said. ‘I’ve been racking my brains just thinking of the people who know my full name and rank together with my home address and it’s basically only the people I work with here and a few close friends and relatives. I can’t get my head around any of those people being responsible for this.’

  ‘Good God, no!’ interrupted Alex. ‘Even I would be on that list, as would Shelley and Charlie. That’s what I mean when I say I hate it when things get personal – we are forced into considering possibilities that would never normally enter our heads.’

  Charlie was Alex’s wife. As a result of a hit-and-run incident when she was a teenager, she had received irreversible spinal injuries and was unable to walk. Amazingly she had not given up on life. In the years immediately following the accident she had been confined to bed and used the time to learn all there was to know about IT. Now in her early thirties, she had for forgotten more about computers and electronic information systems than most people would ever know, and she was frequently headhunted by the big names in the industry.

  Under different circumstances one would say that Charlie kept her feet on the ground, which in her case it was the platform of her wheelchair – and that wheelchair seemed to propel her forward in life rather than hold her back. She was the Head of IT at Goleudy, and it was there that she had met Alex. Her black hair, hazel eyes, and Irish charm had been a mixture he’d found himself unable to resist. There were some who had been surprised at the match, as prior to their meeting Alex was known as a fun-loving man with an eye for the ladies, and his six-foot plus frame, good looks, and perfectly smooth, shaven scalp had attracted them like a beacon. But Alex had only had eyes for Charlie once they got together.

  Martin thought about the two of them and couldn’t even contemplate having to consider them on any list of possible suspects, but he knew that his meticulous attention to detail would have to take him there at some point, though only so that they could be completely discounted.

  Martin asked Alex what had happened at the crime scene and if DS Cotter was on his way back. ‘I was just going to ask you,’ countered Alex, ‘if Cotter would be staying on the case or if Matt and Helen would be working with you. I presume you’ve taken the case, but I don’t think Steven Hall has told his team and so, like me, they’ll be surprised to see you in charge.’

  ‘Well, I know that Matt’s away this weekend,’ said Martin. ‘I have no intention of calling him back, as apparently all four of his sisters plus his twelve nieces have taken a shine to his new girlfriend Sarah, and 16-1 odds against interruption of their mini break are more than I can handle.’

  Matthew Pryor, more commonly referred to as Matt, was the detective sergeant who normally worked with DCI Phelps and the whole force regarded Martin, Matt, Alex, and Professor Dafydd Moore as the ‘A Team’ – a reputation gained from the level of success the four of them had in crime solving.

  Alex grinned and Martin continued. ‘I’ll speak to David Cotter, and if he’s in agreement he can continue working with us until Monday morning and then hand over to Matt. However I did call Helen a while ago and she’s on her way in. This will be her first experience of murder from the CID angle and it’s a pity she didn’t actually see the body at the scene, but I’m sure your photography will fill us both in. I was going to say treat her gently, but I think she’s quite a tough cookie and when it comes to dealing with the Prof women seem to come off better than men.’

  Alex nodded in agreement. ‘The miserable old git was at his most objectionable this morning,’ he said. ‘You know what the Red Dragon Centre is like – there’s the bowling and the cinemas and as you can imagine the area was busy with families having Saturday morning treats and such like. There was a pile up of traffic as soon as the security staff from the centre, at the request of DI Hall, closed the barriers. Prof honked his horn and did his “don’t you know who I am thing” and for a while it was chaos.’

  Martin smiled as he looked at a mental picture of Professor Dafydd Moore arriving at the crime scene in his cream-coloured Lexus and in the manner of many leading academics expecting the world to be awaiting his arrival. When it came to forensic science he was a world leader, and moved and lectured in circles where his reputation went before him, so he was used to being instantly recognised.

  Perhaps unusually for someone of his academic standing, he was dextrous and possessed practical skills that made him invaluable when reading the clues left on a body, but one thing he lacked was common sense. It would never have occurred to him that everyone at the Red Dragon Centre did not know who he was or how important he was likely to be to the officers involved in this crime.

  Alex continued. ‘To be fair to our uniformed colleagues, they had matters in hand quite quickly and they’ll be there for hours scrutinising everyone that goes in and out of that parking area, although I suspect the killer was gone before any of us arrived.’

  ‘I’ll have to tell Helen to be careful what she wishes for, as it was only Thursday when she said she could do with a good murder to get her career with CID started. This is certainly going to be an interesting one what with the poem relating to a number of key elements already discovered and maybe a clue to more – it’s a new one on me anyway.’

  Helen had transferred from uniform to CID just a couple of months ago.
To date she had only seen the more mundane side of the job, and had wondered if she had made a mistake. Even as a police officer she had experienced mounds of paperwork, but it had been peppered with opportunities to meet the public and get out and about. The last couple of months had seen nothing but paperwork, and although she had helped with two cases of fraud and criminal deception she was feeling vaguely dissatisfied.

  When DCI Phelps had telephoned she had been taking her dog for a walk, and Oscar had not been happy when she made him turn tail and head back home before they had even reached the local park. Helen shared a flat with her brother and she knew it would be hours before he surfaced from his duvet, as sometime in the early hours she had vaguely heard him return from his Friday night partying.

  She left a note to say the dog would need to be taken out later and headed for Cardiff Bay in her silver Mini Cooper, on the one hand feeling excited and on the other hand telling herself to remember that some poor woman had been murdered and that was hardly a cause for celebration.

  The officer at the front desk told her that DCI Phelps was in Incident Room One, and she went straight there to be greeted by Martin and Alex. Just one of these men could make her feel small, but with the two of them standing together she felt as if she was in the land of giants.

  Helen had never considered herself to be short, as at five feet five inches she was on a par with most women she knew and even taller than a few of them, but she had always struggled with her weight and her rounded shape had made her seem shorter. Since transferring to CID she had joined a gym, and in a couple of months she had lost over a stone and was looking good. No longer wearing a uniform she was able to wear heels that boosted her height a bit but she still needed to lift her head to greet Martin and Alex.

  ‘Good morning,’ she said and her eyes moved swiftly around the room before resting on the whiteboard where Martin had written out the poem. ‘Not exactly written by one of the Romantic poets, is it? Byron and Keats have certainly not been outdone by this modern-day rhymer – what is it exactly?’

  ‘’Morning, Helen,’ responded Martin. ‘Sorry to mess up your weekend but as I appear to have been selected by the murderer to solve this crime I feel justified in getting my own team to support me.’

  Martin was about to explain the poem and the circumstances that had led to her being called in when the door opened again and this time it was DS Cotter who entered. As expected he looked surprised to see Martin and initially apologised for interrupting, believing he had walked into the wrong room.

  Martin assured him that he was in the right place and suggested that they all get a coffee while he explained what was happening.

  ‘Is DI Hall OK?’ asked David Cotter. ‘He seemed fine earlier although he didn’t hang around and if anything was gone even faster than usual. I’m beginning to think he’s allergic to the sight of blood, but seriously he’s not ill or anything is he?’

  Martin replied, ‘No, he’s perfectly well it’s just that under the circumstances, about which I will explain, I feel I should be the one leading this case.’

  As Alex was already in the picture he offered to get them all some drinks while Martin briefed the other two as to why he was now heading the investigation instead of DI Hall.

  Less than five minutes later Alex returned with four coffees and a plate of toast. ‘We don’t have breakfast until about ten on a Saturday,’ he explained. ‘So I missed mine this morning and suddenly felt hungry, help yourselves.’

  Martin swallowed a mouthful of coffee and then spoke to Alex. ‘David and Helen are now in the picture regarding the letter and why I have decided to take over this case, so now I need you and David to bring me up to date with the details of the crime.’

  Alex was still standing and picked up a second piece of toast before sitting at the table and pulling out his notebook. He asked DS Cotter to start the ball rolling as he knew the series of events that had followed the 999 call.

  David looked at the details that Martin had already written on the large whiteboard. ‘Well that’s it exactly,’ he said looking at Martin. ‘You’ve got the names of the officers who were the first on the scene and it was PC Davies who contacted CID. I went to the scene with DI Hall. We had barely been there five minutes when Alex and his team arrived and then Professor Moore.’ Alex looked up from his notebook and gave Martin the precise time he and the Prof. had arrived.

  David consulted his notes and gave Martin some information about the man who had made the emergency call. ‘He is a Mr Carl Pearce and he’s one of the security staff at the Red Dragon Centre. We’re getting a full statement from him but from what he has said so far it was a member of the public who alerted his attention to the fact that a woman was slumped across the wheel of her car in the car park. Unfortunately he is unable to give us the name of the gentleman who told him as he didn’t see him again.’

  ‘Where was the security officer when the gentleman told him?’ asked Martin.

  ‘Walking about inside the Red Dragon building,’ came back the reply. ‘Apparently the man gave an exact position for the car and also the colour and make but instead of following security to the vehicle the man seemed to disappear and probably didn’t want to get any more involved.’

  ‘Or possibly didn’t want to be arrested for murder!’ suggested Martin.

  Chapter Two

  Teacher’s lesson

  ‘Surely not, sir.’ DS Cotter stared at Martin. ‘You can’t think the person who murdered the woman had the brass to walk away from the murder and alert the security staff to what he had done. He would have wanted to get away as quickly as possible, wouldn’t he?’

  Martin considered the question before he responded. ‘This is not someone who has committed a random murder, this is someone who has thought for a long time about what he wanted to do and has planned it carefully. It may well be that part of the thrill will be associated with taking risks and watching us all run around trying to put together the clues to his identity.’

  ‘My guess is that he was still in the area when you all arrived and may even still be there now. This person is intelligent, he knows me, and I get a gut feeling that he knows the systems we operate, which is going to make it more difficult for us to find him.’

  Alex had loaded his pictures of the crime scene onto the computer and now played them on the second large whiteboard. As neither Martin nor Helen had actually been to the crime scene they took a particular interest in the images.

  The car, as Martin had already discovered, was a black Mondeo and looked in tip-top condition, but the front passenger side window had been smashed to allow the police entry to the vehicle. Alex told them a bit more. ‘The car doors were all locked and there were no keys in the ignition so we can assume that after the stabbing the killer locked the doors remotely and took the keys with him. The same applies to the knife he used as there was no weapon found in the car.’

  Martin interrupted and asked DS Cotter what instructions had been given regarding searches of the area and the other cars in the car park. ‘It’s all in hand, sir,’ he assured Martin. ‘Sergeant Evans had arrived on the scene before I left and there are now more than twenty officers combing the vicinity and vetting all the cars that leave the area. Of course, every car will be stopped – but any car occupied by just one male driver will be particularly scrutinised.’

  ‘Will you please ask them to look out for people walking as well as driving – drivers would be the obvious suspects and that’s why I think this killer may not have used a car.’ Martin sat thoughtfully for a moment and then asked Alex to continue.

  The next image on the screen showed the woman with her head face down on the steering wheel, and it was followed by shots from all angles of the car’s interior.

  One picture showed a handbag and a blue lightweight jacket. ‘That handbag will belong to the victim, won’t it?’ suggested Helen. ‘It’s not unlikely that a woman would lend her car to someone else – but her handbag, never!’

&nb
sp; The men laughed, but they all agreed that Helen was the best judge of that, and then David told them what had been found in the handbag.

  ‘The bag is with Alex’s team but it doesn’t look as if it was disturbed in anyway. We found it on the passenger seat and all it contains is a purse, a hairbrush, a nail file, a single tube of lipstick, and a very old-fashioned mobile phone.’ Alex confirmed that his team were taking a look at that and he had asked Charlie to see if she could get into the mobile phone. ‘It’s locked with a password,’ he explained ‘but I’ve managed to get my wife away from the shops, and if she can’t unlock that phone no one can.’

  ‘Was there anything in the purse?’ asked Martin.

  ‘Not much, really,’ replied David. ‘Some loose change, one twenty- and three ten-pound notes, and an HSBC debit card. Oh, and one library card; I didn’t even know they issued them anymore.’

  ‘Very neat and tidy,’ remarked Helen. ‘If anyone made a random check through my handbag when I was out and about on a Saturday morning they would find it stuffed full of till receipts, packets of wine gums, a couple of folded plastic bags, and all sorts of random stuff.’

  ‘Judging by the images I guess this woman was as near to seventy as damn it, and it looks as if she was previously in pretty good shape, but she’s not one of your modern elderly women, the way she dresses and her belongings are quite dated.’

  ‘Do you know when the Prof is planning to do the PM?’ Martin asked Alex.

  ‘Immediately,’ came the reply. ‘He has some sort of reunion dinner with his university colleagues tonight, and he told me that he’d be available until about five o’clock if there was going to be a briefing. What time is it now?’

  Helen responded. ‘It’s a quarter past twelve. Mrs Williams from the Prof’s department arrived at the same time I did so I suspect the PM will be well underway. What’s the plan now, sir?’ she asked Martin.